


better than nothing.

by Nyxierose



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least she's got the memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy renewal everybody!! I meant to write shiny shiny smut and instead THIS happened. Also posted on tumblr @electricbluebutterflies.

She thinks about him sometimes.

It’s hard not to, really - she justifies it, tells herself that for once in her life she’s doing something _normal_. Getting hung up on an ex-lover is a completely mundane coping mechanism, and Jessica’s seen countless ways it can go wrong but her way is pretty harmless. Just daydreaming, mostly, reliving the few good days they got before everything took a nice little trip to hell and wondering what could’ve happened if she hadn’t been so _her_. If she’d met Luke five years down the line, maybe, both of them with their shit a little more together and their ghosts a little quieter. If she’d told him the moment she figured out what they really were to each other instead of lying about it because she was scared and didn’t want to make things end. If she hadn’t killed his wife (and the fact that it wasn’t actually her fault could never be enough to numb that wound). If she hadn’t nearly killed _him_.

She’ll never know. She’s a destructive hurricane of a human, yes, but she does learn from her mistakes and she tries not to screw anyone over more than once (unless they deserve it, of course, but this one really doesn’t). If there is any fairness left in the world, he will stay well away from her for the rest of his (hopefully) long life, he will find someone else to love who won’t hurt him like she did, he will blossom again and maybe someday the wounds will heal and be forgotten.

As for her, well, she’s got enough memories to get through whatever time she’s got left.

Sometimes it’s sweet, waking up in the morning and knowing that somewhere out there is someone good and perfect and there is still space for that sort of person. Sometimes it’s sad, the nightmares and flashbacks and things she never ever wanted to fight through. And sometimes… sometimes it’s an itch.

She’s usually at “normal people drunk” when it hits - numb enough to be reckless, numb enough to be fun, numb enough that her mind wanders and she gets a spark of feeling between her legs. Her recreational sex drive has never been particularly high, and she’s pretty sure Luke ruined her for anyone else but goddamn was it worth it. All she’s ever gonna have now are nice memories to touch herself to, but at least it’s something, ‘least she’s not totally dead yet.

It hits hard and she makes sure there are multiple locked doors between herself and any possible headaches before she strips down in the safety of her bedroom. Jess is comfortable enough with her body on the days it feels like it’s actually _hers_  - she knows she should probably gain a little weight, and she doesn’t have much of a shape, but she’s made her peace with those flaws. Too damn pale, awkward long limbs, few faded scars she doesn’t think too much about. Currently, a nice pattern of bruises on her thighs that she’s not even sure how she got in the first place, fading nicely and soon to be replaced by fresh ones unless her life suddenly quiets down (it never does). She’d never think of herself as pretty, but she looks decent enough and she’ll settle for that.

She lies back on her bed, tank top and underwear still on because that’s part of the buildup, and her hands start wandering. There’s a damning lack of anything interesting on her to explore, but she kneads her breasts and cups her aching core and teases herself as best she can. The goal is to get the episode over with as quickly as she can, find release and then go on with her life until the next night she feels everything too much.

As she shifts to remove her last garments, she lets herself think of him. How he fucked her the first night, all delicate and sweet and still hot as hell but treating her like a porcelain doll; how he fucked her the night they found out what they had in common, fast and hard and surrounded by a sense of understanding she never thought would be possible. How it felt to curl up around him, wrapping her skinny angular body around his solidness. How _wanted_  she felt, more things she thought were out of her league. Warmth and feather-kisses and-

Enough formality, she thinks, beginning to circle her clit with enough pressure to bruise. Her other hand slips lower, two fingers inside her cunt, not doing anything but necessary for the illusion. Necessary to release her juices, necessary so she’ll have something to clench around.

(God, she misses Luke sometimes.)

It’s straightforward from there, trace random patterns on her clit until she finds one that works - tonight, a zig-zag sort of motion - and then do that as fast and hard as she can until everything tightens up and then explodes. She likes the bursting feeling of orgasm, all of her muscles relaxing in silent personal victory, and she breathes his name in the middle of it and it feels _right_  somehow. She can fantasize, at least. In that one untainted part of her mind, he’s still hers and always will be and not even her amazing abilities can fuck that up.

In the real world, she’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the other side of the bed will be cold and she’ll go back to hating herself. Tonight, she smiles as her eyes close because at least she’s got _something_ the darkness can’t take away. It’s not enough, but it’s better than nothing.


End file.
